


Reclusion

by kez



Category: Primeval
Genre: Angst, Drama, Established Relationship, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-22
Updated: 2012-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-02 09:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 8,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kez/pseuds/kez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Ryan/Jon Lyle (OC).  After receiving a medical discharge from the military, Ryan ran away from everything he knew, but it was never going to be that easy...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> Affectionately known as 'Hermit!Ryan' in the writing, this story now sees the light of day with a title that's only a skip and a jump away from that *g*. Jon Lyle belongs to fredbassett, who kindly lets me borrow him. With thanks to fififolle for the beta and ever amusing commentary!

The area behind the cottage was all forest, dark evergreens casting shadows that on a winter's night could probably be a little unsettling, but the rest of the space around the cottage was wide open. Lush green fields, filled with wild flowers, a river and a road - that was more dirt track than actual road.

It was peaceful, idyllic. Not the sort of place Lyle could honestly say he'd imagined. But then, maybe that'd been why it had taken him the better part of six months to track Ryan down.

Ryan didn't turn when Lyle approached him, the other man naked to the waist, axe in hand, splitting logs like it was something he did all the time. Maybe, out here, he did.

"I was expecting Ditzy," Ryan said.

Lyle startled, but he wasn't sure why. There was no way Ryan hadn't noticed his approach. He hadn't been concealing it anyway. "I lost the coin toss."

Ryan chuckled, turning now, to give Lyle a decent look at him.

He'd lost weight, but still maintained most of his muscle mass. Hair a little longer than he usually wore it. Several days growth of stubble. Dark circles under eyes that held a whisper of pain.

"I suppose you better come in," Ryan said, turning towards the cottage, the drag of his left leg another sign of what had driven Ryan out here.

Lyle shrugged and followed him silently, accepting the seat Ryan pointed at and the cold beer that was dropped into his hands a few moments later, before Ryan took the seat across from him.

The inside was homey, but well-equipped, dark browns and greens on creams and yellows, with oak furnishings and a lot more clutter than Lyle thought Ryan capable of living with. His flat had always been just shy of spartan.

"You'd better just get the bollocking over with," Ryan said.

Lyle quirked an eyebrow. "Is that why you think I came?"

"Isn't it?" Ryan asked.

It was on the tip of his tongue to protest. No, it sodding well wasn't. He'd come to see if his best friend, if a man he thought... if... but the protest died before he could voice it. He _was_ angry. Hurt and furious and a few other things besides. And maybe Ryan deserved a good bollocking for the shit he'd pulled.

"I meant to say goodbye," Ryan said softly.

"You didn't," Lyle replied.

Ryan sighed, taking a long, slow swallow of beer. Lyle knew it was a cover for thinking, but he let it pass. "I knew you'd try to talk me out of it."

"Damn fucking straight."

Ryan let out a soft, amused huff at Lyle's words. "I couldn't stay. Not..."

Ryan didn't need to speak for Lyle to hear the words. Not like this. Not broken.

"So instead you fuck off to the arse end of no-and-where," Lyle said.

"I knew you'd find me sooner or later," Ryan shrugged. "What is it they say, it's better to seek forgiveness than ask permission?"

"Fuck you."

Ryan snorted. "But you have."

Lyle's jaw tightened at Ryan's - probably unintentional – jibe, the truth of it hitting too close to the surface.

"Jon, I didn't mean it like..."

"Like what?" Lyle asked sharply. "Like it meant nothing? Well, it didn't, right...? Friends with benefits, handy way to get off at the end of the day... never mind that I watched you..."

Ryan paled before Lyle could even utter the word and maybe he should have left it at that, but Lyle had never been good at knowing when to shut the hell up.

"...I watched you die."

Silence reigned for long minutes, Ryan's fingers trembling as he set his beer bottle on the coffee table, Lyle's heart beating hard enough that he was half worried it would beat right through his ribcage.

He could see it clear as day in his mind's eye, so much blood and Ditzy shouting orders in the controlled mayhem, the convulsions as Ditzy forced him back to life.

"It changed things," Lyle said quietly. "For me it changed things... and then you were just gone..."

"I can't go back, Jon. I... even if I wanted to, I can't... it's not easy out here sometimes, alone, I get... it takes me all my time and effort just to live some days, but it's good, it gives me focus."

"Lester has a job waiting for you," Lyle said. "He said you're too valuable a resource to waste just because... I think he might actually care, which is a scary thought, but..."

"Yeah," Ryan shrugged.

"You still won't come back, will you?" Lyle said softly. "No matter what I offer you."

"I can't," Ryan said. "Not now, not yet, maybe... maybe not ever."

Lyle swallowed the disappointment, the pain, that bubbled up, nodding stiffly.

"Jon..."

"I should go," Lyle said, standing quickly. "I'll see myself out, I... take care of yourself, okay, and don't..."

"Jon," Ryan repeated. "You could stay..."

"I have a job to do," Lyle said, a sharp flair of anger tinting his tone.

Ryan nodded, eyes shadowed, the grim ghost of a smile at the edges of his mouth. "You could visit again. When you have more time."

"Why flog a dead horse?" Lyle said. "You've made it clear..."

"I can't go back there, Jon, that doesn't mean... I have missed you."

Lyle looked up at him, at the almost cautious expression. "Maybe," he conceded. "On one condition."

"What?" Ryan asked.

"There's a pub in the village," Lyle said.

"Yes..."

"Friday night. You go spend a few hours there. Every Friday night."

Ryan looked, flabbergasted.

"It's not good to be alone all the time, Tom," Lyle said. "You need something... I... I'm not sure yet that it can be me, not... so you go there, you drink beer and play darts and make friends and..."

"I can do that," Ryan said softly.

"Then I'll come back. I don't know... it might be a while..."

Ryan's smile was still a little grim, but his eyes were less shadowed. "I'm not going anywhere."

That was the problem, Lyle thought, but he accepted it when Ryan brushed a soft kiss over his lips in parting.

For now at least, there was nothing else he could do.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan could see he was going to have a strong dislike for winter from now on.

Ryan could see he was going to have a strong dislike for winter from now on. Not that he'd ever enjoyed it really, but it had been manageable. But it wasn't even here yet and he was feeling it.

Now _everything_ ached. Cold seeping into his bones in a way it never had before... and it was only October, it would probably get worse.

"Tom?" a voice called out from the front of the cottage.

"Just a minute..." he called back.

It was closer to twenty, before he got his legs working well enough, pulled his dressing gown on, stuffing his feet into slippers, and padded out to the main living area.

"Thought you'd got lost back there," the teasing came at him with a mug of coffee and the smell of bacon frying, so Ryan let it slide.

Ron Williams was a widower, not much shy of sixty, with bushy grey hair and a matching beard, dressed as usual in jeans and a flannel shirt under a leather jacket that might have been the height of fashion thirty years before, and he'd made himself at home in Ryan's space regularly now for about three months since the first time Ryan had whipped him at darts in the village pub.

"I brought your mail," Ron said. "And some fresh eggs."

"I was going to go into the village later," Ryan half-chastised.

Ron snorted. "Planning on hobbling were you, or were you going to be sensible and drive?"

"It's..." the protest died on Ryan's lips. "Thank you," he said instead.

Ron grinned. "Better. I knew that you had manners somewhere in that head of yours."

Ryan returned the grin, shaking his head. "I suppose you're going to insist on chopping wood for me too? And making lunch and dinner..."

"Don't be daft," Ron said. "I brought some ready-chopped from home and you're big enough and ugly enough to cook for yourself. I've got a lunch date."

"Oh really now?" Ryan waggled an eyebrow.

"Trying to live vicariously through me is a sad state of affairs, my friend," Ron said, setting a plate with bacon, eggs and toast in front of him.

Ryan snorted. "No bloody kidding," he agreed. "But what's a man to do."

"Well, I would point out that that lithe young thing in the hardware store just about trips on her tongue when you drop in," Ron said. "But that'd be ungentlemanly. And you'd probably rather have her brother."

Ryan shrugged. He wouldn't actually, if only because her brother was a smug little fucker who thought he was God's gift to women. Not to mention... but it had been nearly four months since he'd seen Lyle, and the one time he'd knocked up the courage to try calling him, it had gone to voicemail and he'd hung up without leaving a message.

Ryan was the one who'd run away, he supposed it wasn't fair now to expect Lyle to... well, Lyle _had_ tracked him down, followed him up here, trying to... but Ryan couldn't go back. Even though Lyle was more and more on his mind, he knew he'd made the right call there. 

This place may not be perfect, but he was content enough and he'd made a few friends... they helped pass time and gave him help without ever making him feel beholden to them. That seemed to be a skill of people in places like this, where they had to rely largely on themselves. One Ryan was grateful for.

*~*~*~*~*

They finished with breakfast and Ron shimmied Ryan into the shower while he cleaned up, the offer of a game of chess given to pass the morning if he didn't manage to fall and kill himself, so Ryan was surprised to find that Ron was gone when he came out.

And even more surprised to see who was now in his place at the kitchen table.

He might have made a quip. 'Speak of the devil, sure to appear,' but Lyle looked like shit.

One arm was in plaster to the elbow, a myriad of bruises down one side of his face and disappearing into his shirt, and Ryan spotted a crutch propped behind him.

"It's not as bad as it looks," Lyle said.

"That's good, because it looks like you went one-on-one with the mammoth," Ryan said.

Lyle snorted and winced in the same breath. "Not quite a mammoth," he said. "I'm on medical leave for at least two weeks... if it's... still okay..."

"Of course it's okay," Ryan's stomach flip-flopped, a vague kernel of hope twisting inside him.

Lyle nodded, almost thoughtfully, and smiled. "So what's a guy gotta do around here to get some coffee?"

Ryan laughed, relieved. "Ron finished the pot, but I'll make another."

"I met him, he said he'd see you on Friday..."

"Pub night," Ryan said. "I beat his arse at darts and he buys me pints."

"Sounds like a good time..." Lyle said. "I'm glad you..."

"I promised I would," Ryan said.

Lyle smiled, slow and soft, but it lit something in his eyes... Ryan had never been more pleased that he'd kept his word.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyle had been there three days when Friday rolled around.

Lyle had been there three days when Friday rolled around.

They'd been sharing Ryan's bed, but in almost a platonic way, Ryan aware that not only was Lyle injured, but that he probably didn't have the right to expect more. No matter what Lyle had said last time about how he... felt.

Ryan drove them to the pub, he usually walked, but the cold weather was making him stiff, coupled with Lyle's injuries, it made driving smarter, he'd just have to watch how much he drank.

The pub was what passed for full in a village with less than a hundred people, but it didn't take long for them to get served and join Ron and a few of the other blokes around the darts board.

Even with one arm in plaster Lyle made a bloody good showing and managed to impress everyone, earning himself quite a few pints, while Ryan had only one and stuck to orange juice.

Ron was gleefully bragging about his lunch date earlier in the week and gave Ryan a waggle of his eyebrow when he realised Lyle and Ryan were sleeping in the same bed. Ryan had glared, but to no avail. Luckily, Lyle had missed the whole exchange.

It was a good night though, peaceful and uncomplicated in a way Ryan appreciated now more than ever.

*~*~*~*~*

"Blade would fucking love Eric," Lyle said as they stumbled - Ryan, because the temperature had dropped again and his legs ached and Lyle because he'd had a few and that made using his crutch twice as difficult - into the cottage.

Ryan tried to look agreeable, but he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that this was the first time Lyle had mentioned any of the lads in three days.

"You didn't ask," Lyle said, dropping onto the couch.

"I..." Ryan ducked his head, glancing at his feet. "Are they all okay? Did anyone..."

"Three deaths in the last four months, all civilian. Connor got nibbled on a bit by some sort of dog... thing. Cutter got a concussion when he got slammed into a wall and Finn and Kermit both broke bones..."

Ryan couldn't suppress the shudder of relief.

"I'd have called, you know, or come up. I'm not a complete bastard," Lyle said.

"I know you aren't," Ryan said quickly. "I just... I should have known... asked. I don't even know why I didn't."

"You're afraid if someone died, you'd blame yourself for not being there," Lyle said. "Fuck knows we've all been there."

"Maybe," Ryan said. But that wasn't entirely it, he knew. "I didn't think you were coming back, you know."

Lyle shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't. I'm not sure I knew myself until I got in the car. Ditzy'll have a fit about that when I get back."

Ryan laughed softly. "He'll use cold lube next time he has an excuse to check you out... and he'll _find_ an excuse."

"Least someone'll be checking me out," Lyle said.

Ryan choked on air.

"Sorry," Lyle quirked his lips in a grin.

"Liar," Ryan said, still half coughing.

"You didn't ask if there was anyone else either," Lyle said, more seriously.

"There isn't," Ryan said. "Or you wouldn't be here."

"Maybe I just snuck off and left them behind..."

Ryan tensed, Lyle's lie touching too close to the past. Maybe Ryan deserved it, but he thought last time Lyle was here that they'd... 

"Sorry," Lyle said, no humour in his face now. "I didn't mean... or maybe I did. I miss you. I hate that I do, but there it is. And not just the sex, although,my palm and my dick are way too familiar with each other lately, but we were friends, you were my best friend..."

"I didn't stop being," Ryan said.

"Sure you did," Lyle's lips quirked in a painful facsimile of a smile. "You can't cut someone out of your life and still be friends."

"Then why are you here?" Ryan asked.

"I miss you," Lyle repeated.

Ryan didn't know what to say. I missed you too? True but... 

"Wanna fuck?" Lyle asked suddenly.

Ryan blinked. "I..."

"I'm horny and I'll go beat off in your bathroom if you'd prefer, but _I'd_ prefer to come down your throat."

It was a complete one-eighty and by the time Ryan's brain had caught up with him, Lyle was already flicking open the button on his jeans, palming the growing bulge they had done little to hide.

"Well?"

"I can't kneel down," he said finally. "We'll have to go to the bedroom..."


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyle wasn't sure he should have come, driving up towards the small cottage on December 23rd in a borrowed jeep, because the snow was too deep for his car.

Lyle wasn't sure he should have come, driving up towards the small cottage on December 23rd in a borrowed jeep, because the snow was too deep for his car.

His last visit had been... after three days of almost normality, their 'talk' on the Friday evening had cut too close to the bone for them both.

Anger Lyle hadn't quite let go of - even while he was glad to see that Ryan was okay, that he was happy - grating at his nerves until Ryan had given him the opening he needed to say something smart-arsed.

They'd fucked that night, Ryan letting Lyle come in his mouth and his arse, before jerking off over himself. 

It was familiar pleasure. Hot in all the right places and they'd spent most of the rest of Lyle's two weeks repeating it often, barely speaking outside of what was necessary, until Lyle had left at the crack of dawn on his last day, shaking Ryan awake only long enough to say goodbye and giving him no chance to protest it.

Ryan had called him once since, towards the end of November only a couple of weeks after Lyle had left, and he hadn't asked, but Lyle thought... well, if he was wrong, it'd be a long cold drive back to London.

*~*~*~*~*

The cottage hadn't changed much, there were new curtains in the windows and a few sparkly lights shining through them. Did Ryan really have a Christmas tree? He never had one... not in all the time Lyle had known him. Not unless the singing Douglas one the lads had stuck in his office the year before last counted.

Laughter rang out inside the cottage as Lyle climbed from his car and headed towards the front door and he felt a momentary panic. They hadn't made any promises, hell, Lyle hadn't even said a proper goodbye last time, and Ryan was settled here, it wasn't impossible that he'd met...

"You'll freeze your balls off if you stay out there much longer, lad," Ron's grinning face announced from the open door, before Lyle had even knocked.

Lyle let himself be dragged inside without answering.

There was indeed a tree, just a small one, but Lyle could smell that it was real, covered in twinkling lights and with a star perched jauntily on top, a handful of wrapped gifts under it.

"Look what the cat dragged in, Tom," Ron said. "I'll feel much better about leaving you now."

"Uh..." Lyle started to speak but stopped, what was he going to do, protest?

"You are staying aren't you?" a woman Lyle didn't recognise asked. "Tom shouldn't be alone on Christmas, but he's too damn stubborn to come to ours."

"Una love, leave 'em alone, Tom'll never be a social butterfly," Ron said. "But if you do fancy taking a flutter over, you're still more than welcome, both of you."

"Thanks, Ron," Ryan spoke for the first time. "Una, I promise I'll be fine. You two have a good Christmas."

Una gave a stern, sort of motherly - even though she couldn't have been more than forty, too young to be his mother - look as she turned to him. "You look after him."

"Yes ma'am," Lyle replied on automatic.

There was a chorus of goodbyes between them all, during which Ryan stayed seated and Lyle accepted Ron's firm handshake and a kiss on the cheek from Una.

Ryan smirked at him once they were gone. "She's just like that... reminds me of how Claudia used to mother Cutter when he got hurt, except worse."

Lyle snorted. "Well, far be it from me to argue with a lady like that."

"There's still some mulled wine on the hob, should still be warm," Ryan said. "Might take some off the chill, it's bloody freezing up here this time of year."

Lyle nodded and went to help himself to the mulled wine and a mince pie from the box sitting on the counter, before taking the seat Una had vacated, across from Ryan.

They were silent for a few minutes, Lyle sipping the wine - more lukewarm than hot, but it'd do - and scoffing the mince pie, since he'd skipped dinner in favour of getting here before midnight.

"I wasn't sure you'd come," Ryan finally said.

"You didn't actually invite me," Lyle answered.

"Yeah... still..."

Lyle snorted. "I've only got a few days. Need to be back on the 28th. But... Claire and Ditzy have invited you for New Years. They're having a party, everyone will be there."

Ryan sucked in a sharp hiss of breath.

Lyle sighed. "It's two days, they haven't seen you in a year, you could make the damn effort."

"I told you I can't..."

"You won't," Lyle snapped, then forced himself to stop, before he walked out before he'd even... "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."

"I'll take the couch..."

"Don't be a moron," Lyle said. "You'll be as stiff as a board."

"Better than being smothered in my sleep."

Lyle snorted derisively. "I carry a gun, Tom, I don't need to smother you."


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyle was already up when Ryan woke the next morning. Christmas Eve.

Lyle was already up when Ryan woke the next morning. Christmas Eve.

Ryan wasn't big on the holidays. Ron and Una - mostly Una - had forced him into some form of celebration, with the tree and gifts and Una's cooking, but he'd still managed to hold off on making solid plans for the holiday, hoping that Lyle would understand what he hadn't said when he'd phoned the month before.

Lyle had, but now he was here and within half an hour he'd managed to piss the other man off.

He realised that it was irrational. The staunch refusal to go back.

Most of it, he was willing to admit, was plain simple fear.

Fear of how they'd react after he'd disappeared, leaving nothing but a letter. Fear of how he'd handle being around them now when he was _different_. 

And it wasn't just about the injuries any more, although it would grate, he knew, seeing them all, normal, strong and healthy, when there were mornings he got up, aching so bad that it was all he could do to stumble to the bathroom before he pissed himself... and his leg still dragged, better than it had been, but it would never work normally again.

But Ryan felt different on the inside too.

The ferocity, the anger that he had to keep inside, that any good soldier who'd done and seen the things he had had _needed_ , had all but disappeared. He felt looser, freer. There were things he missed, things he ached to have back, but there was a lot that he found, surprisingly, he didn't miss.

How could he face his friends, people he'd lived, fought and bled with, when he wasn't even sure any more that they had anything left in common?

*~*~*~*~*

Dragging himself from bed, he forced himself to the bathroom, pissing and swallowing three painkillers, before heading for the living area.

Lyle was sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in one hand and a book in the other.

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"I can read, you know," Lyle said.

"I've just never seen you read anything other than comics," Ryan said.

Lyle snorted. "Well, you don't have any of those."

They were silent while Ryan made himself coffee and toast, the shadow of last night's aborted conversation hanging over them.

"I almost left," Lyle started, once Ryan was settled. "I'm still not sure I shouldn't."

"I can't..."

"You _won't_ ," Lyle said, heaving a sigh. "And I suppose that's your choice. Fuck knows I'm the last person to offer advice on shit like this, it took me nearly watching you die before I could admit to myself... so, clearly, feelings aren't my forte and you're entitled to yours. I want... I miss you, I told you that. I think about you and I'm half way tempted to... but it's bullshit. You've run yourself up here, into this 'new life', so you don't have to face the old one. But I still do. I can't just run away. Not even for you."

"I never asked you to," Ryan said.

"You didn't ask me to come for Christmas either," Lyle said. "But you did."

Ryan couldn't really disagree with that. "Stay for Christmas... please?"

Lyle nodded. "Yeah, well, I'm here now I guess."

Ryan wished he could think that was the end of it, but he knew it wasn't.

*~*~*~*~*

Christmas morning dawned surprisingly bright, the air was frigid, but the sky was clear and even though his muscles ached, he went with Lyle for a short - obviously in deference to him - walk. 

He gave Lyle the present he'd bought him in cautious optimism a few weeks before and opened the few gifts he'd got, including a few Lyle had bought along, from himself and the lads, a stab of guilt that he hadn't even sent cards, which was ludicrous because they never bothered with shit like that, how could he have known they'd decide to now?

Una had left him enough food to go through New Year's and they made dinner, not quite with all the trimmings, but it was good anyway, chicken, potatoes, veg and some of Una's winter berry pie that Lyle proclaimed was the food of gods. Ryan didn't disagree.

They'd spent half Christmas Eve locked in passion, sex half fuelled by lust and half by frustration - both with themselves and with each other - and Christmas and Boxing Night found it repeated.

It probably wasn't a healthy way to deal with all the stuff they'd only half argued about, but it got Ryan's vote as procrastination techniques went.

Maybe that's why he didn't see it coming, waking up on the 28th before the dawn had even set in, to the rustle of clothes and before the cobwebs had even cleared, the clear snick of his front door closing behind Lyle's retreat.

Ryan wrestled with indecision for a moment, he could probably still stop him, Lyle would have to clear snow from his car...

But then Lyle would ask him to go again...

Somehow, he just knew, that another refusal would be the end of it and he wasn't ready for that. Not by a long shot.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan didn't follow Lyle. In the months that followed, he wondered often if that had been a mistake.

Ryan didn't follow Lyle.

In the months that followed, he wondered often if that had been a mistake.

In the second week of April, he got his answer.

Lyle hadn't answered his phone when Ryan called, the voicemail taunting him when he left a message asking Lyle to call him back.

If it was to apologise, or beg Lyle to come back, or what, he didn't know, but not talking to him, leaving things as they had, seemed even worse than when he'd first walked away. Maybe it was pettiness because this time Lyle had left without a word, but Ryan needed... he needed to talk to him.

When his phone rang six hours later, not Lyle's number, but Ryan recognised it and answered, a stone dropped solidly in his guts.

"Hello..."

 _"Ryan,"_ Ditzy said. Too soft, too clouded with concern.

"Jon...?"

 _"It's bad mate,"_ Ditzy said.

Ryan swallowed. He didn't ask how bad, or if Lyle would... "I'll... I'll be there as soon as I can..."

*~*~*~*~*

Ditzy was slouching in an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, his eyes closed. Connor was beside him, looking pale and exhausted. Abby was asleep across two chairs, her head resting on Stringer's knees.

Connor elbowed Ditzy lightly, waking him and drawing his attention to Ryan.

Ditzy looked him over, appraisingly. "He's in surgery," he said finally.

"What..."

"He saved Abby," Connor said shakily, looking towards his friend as if to make sure she was really still there. "There was a... I don't even know, it was big and..."

"Fractured skull, shit load of broken bones, punctured lung and ruptured spleen," Ditzy interrupted.

"Jesus," Ryan sat down quickly before he could fall down.

"If he's listening," Ditzy said. "Now's a good time to pray."

And Ryan, who didn't believe in God, was sorely tempted.

*~*~*~*~*

Over the next twelve hours it seemed like half the ARC came through the hospital to see how Lyle was - and to see Ryan - all the soldiers and the various scientists, even Lester, who quirked an eyebrow in Ryan's direction and proceeded to ignore him in favour of Ditzy and dragging a half-asleep Connor home.

Ryan spared a brief thought about that. Connor living with Lester. But most of his energy was focused on the doors to the ICU. On Lyle.

The doctors either couldn't, or wouldn't tell them much.

Lyle was stable. But he was on a ventilator and he'd lost a lot of blood. The head injury made everything else ten times worse, although it was, all things considered, not that bad a fracture.

Ryan wasn't heartened by that thought. And even less by the fact that he wasn't allowed in to see Lyle.

*~*~*~*~*

A crash woke Ryan suddenly, unable to suppress a yelp of pain as he moved too quickly.

"Sorry..." Stephen said, picking up the mug he'd knocked over.

Ryan looked around the waiting room, everyone else had gone, much to his surprise.

"Anomaly call out," Stephen said, holding up a bandage-wrapped arm to explain why he hadn't gone.

Ryan nodded and shifted into a vaguely more comfortable position.

"You look like shite," Stephen said.

Ryan snorted. "Yeah."

"Why'd you come?" Stephen asked.

Ryan blinked, shaking his head to clear it, because he had to have heard wrong, he had to have...

"It's not pretty watching a grown man pine," Stephen said. "We all... were worried... then Lyle came home that first time without you and the second time... I told the stupid bugger not to go at Christmas... he deserves better than a booty call every few months."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Ryan snapped.

"Maybe, maybe not," Stephen shrugged. "But I know what it's like to get used up and spit out by someone you're fool enough to love."

"I'm not..." he said.

He wasn't. It wasn't like that. Ryan ground his teeth together as Stephen went back to the book he'd been reading. He wasn't.

*~*~*~*~*

Ditzy eventually forced Ryan back to his place, where Claire fussed and fed him, forced him into bed for a few hours of restless sleep and then fed him again before Ditzy drove him back to the hospital.

The pattern held for several days.

Ryan was allowed in to ICU on the third day, because he was listed as Lyle's next of kin, along with his mother, who was goodness only knows where and unreachable.

Lyle was a tough bastard, which Ditzy said helped. The doctors were becoming cautiously optimistic, but looking at him, hooked up to all and sundry machines, Ryan wondered.

"Talking sometimes helps," the nurse had told him with a smile.

"He'd probably only tell me to shut up," Ryan said.

The nurse laughed softly. "He'll still have to wake up to do that."

Since she had a point, Ryan curled his fingers around Lyle's wrist - the tactile sensation of a pulse more reassuring than the beeping monitors - and started to talk.


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You know, there were easier ways to get me down here."

Lyle wondered what had fallen on him - or stomped on him, or thrown him against a wall... tree... car, or... well, the possibilities were endless.

"You know, there were easier ways to get me down here."

Lyle blinked, momentarily confused. What was Ryan doing there? "Huh...?" he murmured, voice scratchy with disuse, turning his head towards the sound.

Ryan looked as bad as Lyle felt, dark circles under his eyes and a pinched look that Lyle knew all too well. Full of worry, fear, guilt. Lyle had seen it before. Hell, Lyle had worn it before.

There was a moment of silence, before Ryan spoke again. "I'll get the nurse,"

Lyle watched him rise, slow and obviously stiff and sore.

"Tom..." 

"Later," Ryan said.

Lyle sagged back onto the pillows and let his eyes drift closed again.

*~*~*~*~*

The list of injuries he'd sustained was fairly impressive.

Although not the worst he'd ever sustained, but he glossed over that with the doctors, because that was so classified he didn't think he was even allowed to _think_ about it.

There were all the usual questions, his name, where he was - 'a hospital room... I didn't notice the signs on the way in since I was unconscious and all...' - the basic questions they asked to make sure he was no thicker than he had been before.

"Well, your sarcasm is intact," the doctor said. "Do they train for that in Special Forces?"

"I come by it naturally," Lyle said.

The doctor chuckled. "I imagine you'll live, although I recommend not going head on with any more... escaped bears, anytime soon."

"Right, check, no bears," Lyle said with a grin, mostly directed at Ryan, who rolled his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

Lyle must have dozed off again because he didn't remember the doctor leaving, or Ditzy's arrival with Connor and Abby in tow. 

The two young civilians regaled him with tales of his own heroics - of which Lyle had no memory at all, but it sounded like a good story to throw around next time Cutter was complaining about shooting the things with big teeth - while Ditzy threw in sarcastic comments and Ryan sat quietly and glowered.

Lyle couldn't decide if Ryan was worried, generally unhappy to be there, or if there was a more specific reason for his bad humour, but he was there and that was enough.

Lyle was still grinning about that when he dozed off again.

Ryan wasn't there when he woke up.


	8. Part Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ditzy has a few things to say to Ryan, but will Ryan want to hear them?

Ryan sighed. Wishing maybe he hadn't let himself be talked into coming back to Ditzy and Clair's for a shower and a rest while Lyle slept.

Ditzy was sitting across from him at the kitchen table, Claire having left them to it, either because Ditzy had asked or because she was wise enough to realise he was about to chew Ryan a new one.

"So..." Ditzy paused. 

"Just get it over with," Ryan said.

Ditzy quirked an eyebrow. "Really? Because if I actually tell you what I think, mate, you're not going to like it."

"I'm a big boy. I reckon I can take it."

"I'm not so sure you can, or you wouldn't have had to piss off to the arsehole of nowhere," Ditzy said.

Ryan bristled, but didn't respond. He'd given Ditzy leave to say what he would, no point bellyaching about it now. At least not until he'd decided if Ditzy had earned a crack in the jaw.

"You're a good man and a damn fine soldier. One of the best I've ever known. But you're being a twat. He loves you, you do get that, don't you? Because you need to. You need to understand that for better or worse - and all that jazz - the stupid prat loves you. And there are times we've all wondered if he shouldn't just give up," Ditzy said. 

Ryan's hands twisted together on the table, his teeth gritted together. He didn't necessarily want to take a swing at Ditzy, but he wanted to take a swing at something.

"Some people, shit like this, it's the only thing you can do because they don't want to be helped, they don't want to be tied to things that remind them of what they're trying to forget... but you invited him to remain a part of your life... I think whether you want to admit it or not, you don't want to be out there on your own. And it's time to man the fuck up and decide once and for all if you have the balls to take your life back. Jon doesn't deserve this," Ditzy said.

 

"It's not my life any more," Ryan said.

"That's bullshit, mate, or you wouldn't be here. You would have told Jon to piss off the first time he went to see you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Ryan said.

"Maybe not. But I don't need all the details to know that you're bullshitting yourself, even more than you're trying to bullshit us," Ditzy said, standing from his seat. "Go back if you want, but don't fucking leave Lyle hanging this time."

Ryan watched Ditzy leave without another word, dropping his head to the table in frustration.

"Don't mind him," Claire said, startling him. "You look like hell."

Ryan snorted. "I probably do. But he's not really wrong. Jon doesn't deserve this."

"I don't think either of you do," Claire said. "Don't you miss your friends, work?"

"Of course I bloody do, but I'm not..."

"You're not a soldier any more... but we're all still your friends. And from what Jon said, you've got a job waiting."

"It's not that simple," Ryan sighed softly. "It's just not... I'm not who I was."

"You're wrong, or purposefully dense. I think I know a little bit about a soldier's life and I get that it's not just a job, but it isn't _who you are_. It's a part of it, but it's not everything."

"I don't..."

"It's your life, Tom, but David is right, Jon loves you and I don't think he's the only one or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Ryan sighed. "It might not even matter at this point."

"I don't know that you're giving yourself or Jon enough credit. But it's up to you to try if you want to, or let him go if you don't."

"You're being much nicer than Ditzy but don't think I haven't noticed you're saying more or less the same damn thing," Ryan said.

Claire laughed softly and reached across to pat his arm. "Well, good advice stands repeating."

"Yeah..."

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan left Ditzy and Claire's place without a clue if he was going home, or to the hospital, or where else he could go.

He wasn't entirely sure how he ended up at Clapham Common. He hadn't often been there in the past, it was nowhere near where he had lived and there was nothing that attracted him to go that far out of his way.

Eagle Pond was quiet this time of year, no fishing, and kids in school. There were a few dog walkers around and a couple of people running near by, but it was easy to blot them out. To picture everything as it had been that day.

The smell of gun oil and cordite, Cutter's rolling R's as he shouted, the vaguely controlled chaos... Connor's database had identified the Pentaceratops, so huge it should have been lumbering along, but for a creature of its size it could move fast... its head lowered, deadly horns... 

Ryan remembered diving out of the way as they tried to direct it back towards the sparkle of the anomaly, crashing to the ground safely out of the way of the horns, but not enough to escape the massive feet.

Ryan heard his own scream of pain almost before he was fully aware of the agony ripping through him... Lyle, Ditzy, Cutter, Stephen... worried faces, Ditzy's rushed orders, his tone that strange mix of calm and frantic he seemed to have mastered.

Sharp memories phased into the blur of pain, drugs and people he didn't know... 

The only sign now of the whole... accident... was the remains of a tree stump, cut off near the base where it had been damaged by the rampaging creature.

Ryan walked towards it, sitting on the stump, running his finger lightly over one of the outer rings, still just visible through the dirt that had gathered.

He didn't know why he'd come here. It didn't help, it didn't make anything better. It just was what it was. The place Ryan had lost almost everything he'd known for most of his adult life.

The military was a part of him. Of his very core. Maybe it wasn't _everything_ but it was so much of him that living without it... 

It had taken him a long time – and Lyle's intervention – before he'd started to really live again instead of just existing day to day, but had he really been living at all, or just kidding himself?

He really didn't have any more of a purpose now than he had when he'd first been injured.

He spent his days fixing or making things around the cottage, or more and more around the village as people discovered he was pretty handy with a hammer, as long as he didn't have to climb any ladders, but it wasn't a career, hell it wasn't even a job really – not that he needed the money, able to live quite comfortably on the benefits he got, given that he didn't need much.

But just because he didn't have a job it didn't mean he didn't have a life. He had friends, people he enjoyed spending time with, things he did that passed the time.

And maybe that was the point really.


	9. Part Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyle smiled grimly, figuring he knew what would come next and not looking forward to hearing it...

Lyle feigned sleeping hoping that if it was the vampire nurse from hell back she'd take pity and let him sleep instead of stealing yet more blood, but the foot falls across the linoleum floor told him quickly that it wasn't and he debated for a moment maintaining the act anyway, to see what his visitor would do.

"I know you're awake, Jon, we've shared a bed too many times for me not to be able to tell..." Ryan said.

Lyle couldn't help but laugh, regretting it only slightly for the pain it caused, before opening his eyes and focusing on Ryan's face.

"You look like shit," Ryan told him.

"Reckon that's a bit of the pot calling the kettle, mate," Lyle said.

Ryan shrugged, taking the seat by the bed. "How you feeling?"

"I'll live," Lyle said.

"Yeah..."

Silence reigned for a few minutes, Lyle wondering if he was supposed to say something else, if Ryan was waiting for him to break the silence.

"I..." Ryan finally started, stopping again almost instantly, his face scrunching, eyebrows knitting together.

"Tom?"

"I don't know what to do," Ryan said.

"Uh... okay..."

"About... everything, if I'm honest. Ditzy read me the riot act. Claire told me I was being a wanker, more politely because she's Claire but... hell even Hart had a fucking go at me when we were waiting to find out if you'd be okay..."

Lyle frowned. "What? They had no right to..."

"No, they did. I've been a prize bastard, I know it, you know it, don't go absolving me of that now, I've always relied on you to tell me when I'm fucking up..."

"Well, you've also always listened in the past, when I have," Lyle said.

"Yeah... I... shit, Jon... I didn't want to hurt you."

"I'm a big boy, Tom, I knew what I was getting into," Lyle said.

"Maybe I didn't..." Ryan said. "I thought... but I just couldn't stop wanting... and when you turned up I thought I could have my cake and eat it too... but after last time I knew if you did come back, it would be the last time. That if I said no again to coming back here... you wouldn't ask again."

Lyle remained silent. He couldn't disagree, except to say that he hadn't even been sure he was even going to give Ryan the chance to say no.

"I don't know if I can handle being here, around all of you and not able to go out there..."

Lyle smiled grimly, figuring he knew what would come next and not looking forward to hearing it, tuning Ryan out as much as possible, mentally reviewing weapons specs in his head, until he had to just make him stop and hope he'd leave so Lyle could lose his shit in private. "It's okay..."

"...I start my new job in two weeks..."

"Huh?"

"I talked to Lester today, he said I can have two weeks to sort out living arrangements before I start..." Ryan said.

"You're staying?"

"That's what I just said."

Lyle had... no words. "I... oh..."

"Is that... I thought it's what you wanted and..."

"Of course it is, you pillock, I just wasn't actually prepared for you to... I didn't think you would."

"I figure we've both got a lot of shit to figure out, but... maybe if we work on it together," Ryan said.

Lyle let what Ryan was saying sink in for a moment, watching Ryan look more and more nervous before he spoke. "I'm not sure I'm qualified to handle your shit," he said. "But I do carry a gun if you're too much of a pain in the arse."

Ryan looked relieved and chuckled. "Does that mean I can stay with you then?"

"Like you won't be in my bed every night anyway."

"Every night? Someone's hopeful..."

"We've got lost time to make up for. I've relied on my own right hand way too much since you moved to the arsehole of nowhere."

"It's not the..."

Lyle raised an eyebrow. 

"Okay, it's not far from it," Ryan conceded. "Jesus, remind me why I'm staying? You're a cheeky fucker."

"You love me really, besides, I give fantastic blowjobs, a man can put up with a lot if the blowjobs are good," Lyle said.

Ryan stared at him just a little too hard for a moment.

"What? You don't agree?"

"I... yeah... yeah it's... you're right, I... a man can put up with a lot for a decent blowjob, even from your cheeky mouth," Ryan said.

Lyle grinned. "And fantastic arse, let's not forget that."

Ryan laughed. "Heaven forbid."


	10. Part Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been, he thought, the biggest challenge he'd faced since taking the job Lester had carved out for him at the ARC.

**Six Months Later**

Ryan was exhausted. A spate of anomalies in South Yorkshire had kept the ARC response team busy for days, civilians and soldiers both had been taking shifts on and off after it became apparent that the anomalies were not going to stop any time soon.

They had counted at least 73 in four days, but the ADD was getting almost 'confused' according to Connor by the end of it, from so many signals, so they might even have missed a few. 

Luckily, most of them were short lived, five or ten minutes at the most, only 24 of them had stayed open longer than an hour. Even so, every site had to be checked and that meant all hands on deck.

Ryan couldn't be in the field, but he'd spent the time coordinating the teams – or trying to when the anomalies weren't interfering with communications - and fielding calls along with Lorraine Wickes, that largely involved lying to people who were scarily higher up the food chain than him, about Lester's whereabouts or providing 'evidence' of Claudia's cover stories to civilians who were too damn nosey for their own good.

It had been, he thought, the biggest challenge he'd faced since taking the job Lester had carved out for him at the ARC.

Not being able to go out on any anomaly call was hard, but he'd slowly adapted and they'd been lucky, he thought, not to sustain any major injuries. He wasn't yet sure how he'd handle being at the ARC and yet so helpless if one of the lads got injured. 

But being stuck at the ARC this time, with four days of almost no contact with his lover and no clue what was going on more than half the time... half-arsed reports of things with big teeth had left him frustrated and his nerves more than a little frayed.

At least he'd got to talk to Ditzy long enough to know everyone was more of less okay after the last – hopefully - of the anomalies closed the door on some 'nasty buggers' Ditzy couldn't remember the name of except to say they had 'fucking big teeth'.

Lyle and the lads were still in Yorkshire, which was a pain, not only because one of the very big pluses of coming back to the ARC was getting regular sex, especially after a hard day. 

But also – and principally - because one of the big negatives of being back at the ARC was that he had just enough concrete knowledge of what the teams were facing on any given day to know what to be worried about, and Ryan knew he wouldn't sleep well until he'd seen for himself that Lyle and the others were all okay.

*~*~*~*~*

The flat he'd essentially moved into with Lyle – even if neither of them were quite admitting yet to just how permanent it had become – was dark and chilled when he entered and the first thing he did was flip on the heating.

The fridge didn't offer much in the way of anything edible, so he pulled a box of something pretending to be a roast beef dinner from the freezer and shoved it in the microwave to heat while he washed and changed, giving a half thought to shaving the couple of days worth of stubble before deciding it would wait until the morning.

The microwave and his mobile went off almost at the same moment, the beep of the microwave half drowned out by his phone playing Johnny Cash's Dinosaur Song – some day, he was going to kill Lyle for that.

_'or swimming in a brachiosaurus track...'_

"Ryan."

"Hello, oh light of my life, oh wind in my sheets..." Lyle greeted cheerfully.

"Bite me," Ryan replied, tossing the hot plastic packet his dinner rested in on a tray with one hand while his phone was in the other. "I've only just made it home and you've had time to get drunk already?"

"Not drunk," Lyle said. "Claudia won't let us. She won't even let me have a pint in case the anomalies come back."

"Oh, you poor thing you."

"I was hoping for brewer's droop. I've got a post combat hard on that could hammer nails."

"Oh, you poor thing you," Ryan replied again with even less sincerity.

"Unsympathetic fucker," Lyle grumbled.

Ryan laughed. "Well, no one's stopping you wanking, Jon."

"Much more fun when you help me though," Lyle said.

"Not tonight, darling, I have a headache."

"You really are an unsympathetic fucker," Lyle muttered.

"Make it home before lunch time tomorrow and I'll show you just how sympathetic I can be," Ryan said. "But right now I'm going to eat, slob out on the sofa watching bad TV and very probably fall asleep there."

"You should go to bed, you know your leg hurts worse when you sleep on the sofa," Lyle said.

"I really won't be sleeping that much," Ryan said.

"Yeah... I know," Lyle replied softly. "But go to bed anyway. I'll catch you tomorrow and I'm holding you to your promise so you'll need all the rest you can get."

"I do hope so," Ryan said with a little chuckle. "G'night, Jon."

"I'll text before we set off in the morning. Night, Tom."

Ryan hung up the phone with a little sigh, grabbing a fork off the draining board and stuffing a forkful of mashed potato in his mouth before he remembered these things needed about a quart of salt to be edible.

Adding salt, a beer and painkillers to the tray, he moved from the kitchen counter to the coffee table, switching the TV on as he settled in for the night.

What Lyle didn't know, wouldn't hurt him.

*~*~*~*~*

Ryan's leg did ache the next day and there was a snowball's chance in hell that Lyle didn't know why it was aching, but he didn't say anything when the teams eventually returned to the ARC a little after fourteen hundred.

"You're late, too bad," Ryan said with a grin as he greeted them.

There was no way Lyle, or any of the others, missed the way his eyes were following them all, no matter the easy tone of his words, but no one commented on that either.

"Says who, lunch could be now..."

"But it wasn't. It was an hour ago and now Lester wants me in a meeting," Ryan said. "You'll just have to wait 'til we get home."

"He hardly waited," Blade said. "Wanked in the shower last night and this morning, it's a wonder it doesn't fall off."

"Fuck you," Lyle said.

"You're not my type," Blade retorted with a wide grin.

"Good things come to those who wait," Ryan told Lyle before he and Blade could get properly going, the two of them perfectly capable of throwing insults at each other all day if left to it.

Lyle gave him a look that seemed to be a mix of annoyance and affection, saying in equal parts 'fuck you' and 'yeah, I know'.

Ryan tried to suppress a smile, trying not to look entirely soft in front of the others. "An hour or so, then I'm sure we can convince Lester we're all owed an early finish as long as there are no call outs."

"I really am holding you to it this time, no excuses about being late or early, or anything else," Lyle said, grumbling.

Ryan laughed. He wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
